


Season 3 AU: Social Media (Working Title)

by CescaLR



Series: The Joys of Networking. [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Facebook, Gen, Magical Stiles Stilinski, OC's will be a big enough part of this fic for that to be a warning., POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, POV Third Person Omniscient, Social Media, Twitter, WIP, Work In Progress, haven't quite decided., just so you know, mostly a not shippy fic, not unless wanted, teen rating for violence and swearing, there will be no pairings between ocs and cannon char.s regardless, though there might be some if I feel like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-10-28 18:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10836735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: I make a supernatural spy network. Well, not really, but that sounds cool, so. More like a network of supernaturals, who talk to each other. Like non-idiots.- A BH Original.Includes; canon divergence prior to season 3A. Friendshipping, and general magical nonsense. Welcome to Beacon Hills.





	1. And So It Begins; Alphas, and some sort-of druidic training.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mr6volt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr6volt/gifts).



> Be aware that this is my first time messing about with this sort of fic. It might take me a bit to get used to how the generators work. Until then, there may be the occasional slip up, but I ask you to please take this in stride. In the same vein, sorry about the duplicate message below - the time stamp was wrong and I'm entirely uncertain on how to /remove/ a message once written. Also there's an Image which refuses to be shown. [fixed! see end note].  
> The timeline for this fic is a wonky version of the end of season 2's events/start of season 3's events. I'm bumping everything out a bit, and extending it. However, Ignore the August. I can't change it now; pretend it's still April, but before Allison goes to France. Meaning, this fic will go through that summer. It goes as follows:  
> \- Boyd & Erica, rather than telling Derek that they're leaving as was planned, get roped into helping. The two are paralysed at the start of the Kanima & Gerard vs. everyone fight, so they don't change anything. Also, they aren't in the basement when Stiles is captured by Gerard.  
> \- Boyd & Erica forget about leaving in the chaos, and, after about a day, remember. Erica isn't sure anymore - it not being a rash, unplanned decision to get the hell out of dodge, now - but Boyd is. Erica hesitates, and Boyd leaves without her. Thus, Erica isn't captured by the Alphas, but Boyd still is.  
> \- Erica therefore is with Derek, Peter & Isaac when they find the Alpha pack symbol, a few days later than in the show's cannon to allow for the previous point. She insists that they tell Stiles & Scott & the rest, because they'd be in more danger if they were unaware that they need to be careful.  
> \- Isaac, in this, is sent to go find Boyd, along with Allison. Isaac gets captured when scouting, and Allison is taken by Braeden back to BH, before the woman disappears to try and help Isaac & Boyd.  
> \- Thus, Derek gets it in his head that a super needs to be with a human at most times (not when they're at home, that isn't enforceable, not really - doubly so for Allison) So Ally hangs out with Scott/Isaac (before he's taken) in intervals (when she can stand Scott, I mean - as they're still broken up and she's still got a bit of a grudge so... that will stay that way)  
> \- When not w/ Ally, Scotty is w/ Lydia, as the other two wolves really don't like her. So that's most times, since otherwise she wouldn't get any protection as Derek still isn't a huge fan of her.  
> \- Erica and Scotty go with Stiles at times - as Isaac (before he's taken, again) and Stiles don't really get along - so bonding there Stiles-Erica wise. (friendshippy for now, might end up more we'll see. Possibly only temporary if it does.)  
> \- Allison and Lydia commiserate in their shared perceived uselessness as they're human. Stiles joins in on occasion, but Lydia mostly only talks to Allison, therefore Stiles mostly talks to Allison. Stiles-Allison Lydia-Allison Friendship bonding is a good thing.  
> -Lydia's back to ignoring Stiles, as Jackson is alive. He leaves for London during the week that follows, doesn't tell her. She strikes up a thing with the guy in the 3A premiere as retaliation. Strictly sex only.  
> \- Stiles wonders about supernaturals on the internet, so looks for supernaturals on social media. Finds some, but doesn't find a specific supernaturals-only (associates allowed) place, so decides to make his own. By magically sealing a twitter feed. It'll work, he thinks.  
> \- Obviously, this means that Stiles looks back, sees his use of mountain ash and exactly how he re-opened the barrier, looks at himself holding up an alpha werewolf whose much older in water for two hours straight, and thinks that might mean something, oh golly-gosh who'd've thunk it.  
> \- Basically, Magic! The imagination based thing Stiles uses in combination with the druidic belief based thing that Deaton tried to teach w/ the mountain ash.  
> -I think that's all the things you need to know for now. Enjoy!

Stiles had been wondering, lately, about social media. It had been a few days since Jackson's second revival; the bastard got two, fuck's sake can someone stay dead, if only to knock some sense into people's heads that this isn't all fun and games, and that people can and  _will die,_ _permanently,_ and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it? Stiles would know more than most, granted, but still. You would assume at least the remaining Hale's wouldn't be so reckless.

... _Anyway,_ Let's get back on track. So, Stiles had been wondering - and things tend to happen when he does that, since those things tend to be caused by him in his search for answers. So, in his usual fashion, Stiles researched. And, of course, found nothing of the 'social media for supernaturals and their associates' sort.

He did, however, find some actual druids, actual supers, all talking in code and shit that's actually perfectly see-through if you are even slightly observational.

Funnily enough, he'd found them on Facebook. Well, at least it's being used for something productive. Stiles sighs, unwilling, but this is necessary for communication, and so makes an account.

It's not like he can hide it, though he's tried, so Stiles puts Beacon Hills, California as his place of residence, a neon flag to those in the know, he hopes, if not a bright red one signifying his upcoming death - he hopes _that's_ not the case. That would suck, massively. 

Glancing through the druid's feed, Stiles saw the coded way in which to get their attention - send them a message and sound like you know what you're talking about. Stiles can do that - since, in a way, he does. But he's also pretty high rank when it comes to bullshitting his way through things, so Stiles figures he can take this chance. Adding a photo - not of himself, but of a certain symbol, Stiles then works up the courage to message the Druid. 

It goes as follows:

* * *

Stiles sighed, leaned back and cracked his knuckles. He wasn't happy about using a nickname version of a name he can't really spell, let alone pronounce, but it was the best kind of disguise - Stiles never, ever used his name. Most people didn't even know Stiles  _wasn't_ his name. And that was the way he preferred things, but obviously things he prefers don't matter and he has to use at least a nickname version of his name at some point. Like now, as that's exactly what he just did. 

Cracking his neck, Stiles waited for a response. 

* * *

Frowning, Stiles tapped absently on the 'k' key.  _'What to say?'_ he mused; used to lying about everything and omitting all details, Stiles knows exactly what he  _wouldn't_ say usually. Shrugging, he figured that's exactly what the lady wanted, and replied. 

 

* * *

Stiles nodded to himself.  _Mission accomplished,_ he thought, satisfied with what he had gained. Deaton had been literally no help - since Stiles hadn't even used his advice to make the barrier in the first place. Sighing, mood immediately soured at the thought of  _that_ unhelpful Obi-Wan type druid, Stiles reached into his draw and grabbed the small jar of mountain ash he'd managed to get his hands on. 

Using eBay to get genuine mountain ash was harder than he'd've figured it to be, Stiles remembered, glancing at the screen in case of any more messages. 

Who knows, maybe his luck could be that good today. Probably not, but he won't give up hope that it will be, someday, slightly less shitty. 

Unfortunately for Stiles, that's exactly when his phone beeped with a new message. Frowning, and thinking  _probably shouldn't've thought that about my luck before, should I?_ He put back the jar and grabbed his phone off his desk, turned it on and checked his messages. 

_Aaaandd... it's Erica? Okay, sure. Oh, wait. 'We have a problem?"..._

Sighing, because  _of fucking course we do,_ Stiles replied swiftly then added Erica to his contacts. 

* * *

* * *

 Erica smirked, slightly. "He's coming!" She called over to Derek, who grimaced slightly but nodded all the same. Since Boyd is probably long gone by now and he made his stance clear, Stiles is the only 'he' she could mean. Erica still isn't sure she made the right not-decision, in her not-deciding to stay and let him go without her. 

But hesitating is what got her into this mess; knowingly aiding and abetting his disappearance instead of following suit, so Erica will stick to this. It's the least she can do for him. 

Scott shifted, glanced over at the edge of the clearing as Isaac and Argent wandered onto the premises. "Took you long enough." she said, then looked over to Derek. 

He nodded, and Erica sighed, but relented - feeling her eyes burn gold. Derek stopped leaning against a post and stood, crossed his arms but not defensively. "So." He announced. "This," He gestured to the strange triskelion they'd found the other day,."This is the symbol of the Alpha Pack." He said. "A rather dangerous group of serial killing werewolves." Peter took over, stepping back from the door. "Lead by a man called Deucalion. Once, an idealist - much like Scott." He added, thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, regardless of the similarities they may have had once - he tried to call for peace between the Argents and the werewolves. Of course, Gerard murdered them all - his own men included - and he, Deucalion, went mad." Peter smiled. "As far as I'm aware.. I left before I could be found. Eavesdropping wouldn't have helped me much, if I were dead.' It wasn't a nice expression, the smile - but then, Erica thought, when were his expression's ever  _nice?_ As long as she'd known him, (which, granted, wasn't long) his expressions had never been what you could call  _nice._

"Any other things to say?" Allison asked. Derek shook his head, and Peter kept that oddly smug default expression. 

"Right then. Well, I should probably tell you all that Dad is taking me to France for the rest of the summer in about two weeks." She told them, and Erica nodded. Derek frowned, then sighed. "Could you do something first?" He asked, demanded rather and Allison became slightly standoffish. "What?" She asked, and Derek sighed. "Boyd's gone missing. Erica-" Here, he shot her a  _look,_ and Erica refused to feel guilty -" hasn't told me anything about that. I can't leave the town, not with this -" He nodded to the symbol, " so someone else will have to go look." At Allison's expression, he extrapolated. "Not far," Derek continued. "And not for long. Just about a mile each direction away from the town, and you can take Isaac with you." Isaac looked up and frowned, before smirking and glancing at Allison, to see what she thought of this. 

Erica can understand why she isn't being sent; even if she found him, which was unlikely, she'd let him go. Let him leave, forever. Hell, she'll (possibly, probably) leave with him. And she knows he can't afford to lose any more betas right now, not with the threat currently hanging over their heads, so Erica is... okay, with this treatment.

Not happy, but she'll accept it's necessity. Sort of.

Allison looked more accepting than before. "Yeah, alright." She agreed. "Shouldn't take too long. I'll ask my dad to borrow the van, and we should be back within the week if Isaac can track him." Allison nodded to herself. "Sure, but -" Here, she glowered at Derek, Peter -" _Only_ for Boyd."

Glancing to Isaac to make sure he'd follow, Allison turned around and left the clearing. "Stiles," She greeted on her way out, and the teen in question nodded to her absently.

"I'm here." He said. "I'm also guessing the meeting started without me, So I'll just figure this out then, yeah?" He asked rhetorically, before striding over to the door and taking a photo of it.

Derek scowled, and Peter looked... amused, she thinks. Alright then. "Alpha pack." She called out, "It's their pack's symbol. Bunch of murderous lunatics lead by a guy called Deucalion. He tried to make peace with Gerard and got his pack and Gerard's men all killed by Gerard in the process."

Stiles snorted, glanced up at Scott. "Well, that was stupid." he commented. "S'not like Gerard isn't obviously evil, right?"

"He is rather well known throughout the supernatural world for being ruthless when needed and ruthless when not." Peter said. "A kind way of saying that he's psychopathic, I'm sure." 

Stiles nodded absently, grimacing, then put his phone back into his pocket. "Signal here's not great." He said, rolling his eyes. "Have to wait 'til I get back to look around for that."

Derek looked at him strangely, as if Stiles was being odd. Erica thinks Derek regressed to ridiculous levels of incompetence with modern technology - She's certain there would be some people with real know-how on the web, and she's doubly certain that Stiles would have gone and found them out of curiosity. 

At least, from what she remembers. She's not sure if he grew out of that or not. 

Pretty sure  _not,_ though. If him being in all this mess is anything to go by. 

Stiles seems to think Derek a little stupid, as he frowns at him. "Uh - searching the web for instances when this shows up?" He asked rhetorically. "Seeing if we can find there M.O from previous packs?" He added. "Not to mention looking for the symbolism of the lines instead of the spirals." He finished, raising an eyebrow at Derek. "Or did you forget about researching?"

Derek grumbled, lowly enough so that Stiles wouldn't have heard, but acquiesced all the same. "Fine." He said aloud. "Look for it then." Stiles nodded, satisfied, and Peter still looked amused. More than before - but more genuine, if that makes sense. 

Erica moves on from that, since it doesn't really matter. 

Stiles goes back down the steps, and Scott picks up his bag. Erica realises they've all just unanimously, silently, decided to leave. 

Shrugging, she goes over to Derek. "Gotten the apartment yet, Derek?" She asked. He sighed, and shook his head. "Still looking for a good enough location." He admitted. "Close enough to town for you and Isaac to go to school, far enough away that it won't be checked for squatters." He inclined his head. "Defensible location." Derek added, frowning further. "It might take a month or so more; you should go home." Derek advised. Erica nodded, then walked over to where Scott and Stiles were, easily catching up with them. 

"Could I catch a ride?" She asked, addressing Stiles as he's the one with a car. Stiles nodded, stopped leaning on the tree. "Sure, Erica." He glanced over to Scott. "Got your bike?" He asked, and Scott nodded. "Yeah, Stiles. See you later." Stiles clapped him on the shoulder then moved over to Erica, gesturing for her to follow. Erica falls in step with the other teen, watches him from the corner of her eye and navigates with her other senses. "So." She started, then realised abruptly she had no idea what to talk about. Frowning, she ploughed on. "What do you think of this mess?" She asked, referring to the alpha pack. Stiles shrugged. "don't know yet." He said, glancing at her, before paying attention to the low hanging branches ahead, in case one whacked him in the face. "Need to have a look around, ask a few people about them. Usual stuff you'd do when trying to research junk." Stiles said frankly, ducking his head under a particularly low branch which Erica also avoided - though more by dropping her head slightly than ducking. 

The rest of the walk was silent; it had been so long since their last conversation - and what a one it was - that wasn't about the supernatural or, well, herself/herself  _dying,_ so you know. 

Awkward, she thinks this is that. Silently, unknowingly, he agrees, and the two enter the jeep. Erica frowns past the windshield, and Stiles lets her contemplate, concentrating on driving and trying to remember how to get to her house. 

"Turn left here," She says, when he hesitates at a set of lights. Stiles does, and the rest of the journey is somewhat the same; occasional pauses and then given directions. Erica doesn't mind and Stiles is thankful she doesn't leave him floundering, so this is fine for the both of them. 

"This one." Erica says, indicating the second house on the left. It looks the same as Stiles vaguely remembers, and the nostalgia -bittersweet nostalgia; for the last time he was here his Mom was alive, and isn't that something he dreads thinking of?

Especially now. Now, when that scar is split open once more.  _Thanks, wolfsbane party,_ Stiles thinks, rolling his eyes. Erica looks to him and just misses it, frowning at the scent she could smell but not quite place. 

Derek said she'd get better at this chemo-signals thing, but Erica's seen no signs of improvement. "Stiles?" She says, getting his attention. "Thanks." 

And with that, Erica got out of the jeep, dropped easily to the ground and closed the door carefully, still a little wary of her own strength, still not quite in control of it. Erica strode over to the front door, and entered. 

She didn't hear the jeep leave until the door shut behind her, and that made her smile, a little. Rolling her eyes at herself ( _really, Reyes?)_ Erica shrugged off her jacket and wandered into the kitchen. 

"Mom." She greeted, softly, maybe - calmly. 

The woman turned around, blinking rapidly at the sight of her wayward daughter. "Erica." She said, surprised. "You're home."

Erica smiled. She saw her mother return it, and perhaps there would be shouting later, demands later,  _what happened to that thing known as epilepsy and how are you cured,_ later, but she hopes, for now.. "Yeah." Erica smiled, more. "I'm home."

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! I have made this a gift because this man made it possible for this to actually fucking work as an idea in the first place after I screwed up with it so there you have it, have this as a gift thing bc thanks a bunch, seriously.
> 
> Thanks to Mr6volt, the image problem is fixed now and they're all visible and shit. It cool, I'm happy about this. Thanks, man!  
> On another note in the same vein, if you like a couple of the icons I use I've put them up on my tumblr, @cescalr, or you can just go to my imgur ( CescaLR... same username... I'm creative honest-) to find them there, along with the other images used throughout this thing and a couple extra for funsies. Yay?  
> Yay.   
> :).


	2. The Start Of A... More... Than Empty Summer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because, let's be really, did literally nothing happen then?  
> No. No, something definitely did. Here is that, are those, somethings.  
> (This 'verse's version, of course.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this idea. Let's mess with it a bit more.

* * *

Dawn breaks through open curtains, but the light doesn't reach the bed and wake any occupants in a cliche sort of manner. There are, in fact, no occupants in the bed, as Stiles is sitting at his desk, practising what the lady Druid told him to practice. Meaning, he's trying and failing to make a small mountain ash circle with a pinch of said ash, while the amount he has is not enough for the size of circle he's trying to make. 

"Crap." He mutters, frowning - glaring at the seemingly innocent ash lying innocuously on his palm. 

Grunting, because he  _has_ to do this, he really does because he  _can't_ be the only useless one, Stiles closes his eyes and  _concentrates._

 _'Imagine,'_ He thinks.  _'Come on, Stiles. Imagine, visualise, believe. Fuck, even Geriatric Argent thinks you can do this, and he beat you to a pulp saying you were worthless as anything other than a message.'_

Stiles breathes, out, in. He hasn't dealt with that happening properly yet, can't really think on it for too long because,  _hello,_ super embarrassing, and also Pain. It hurt, okay? 

All of it. Because emotional pain hits harder and lasts longer than physical pain will ever do, in Stiles' opinion, unless said physical pain is used as weapon to cause emotional pain, then _fuck;_  it really goddamn hurts. 

He breathes again. In, out. Stiles' eyes close, slowly, and he thinks,  _Imagine. Visualise. Believe._

**_Imagine._ **

(" _You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr. Stilinski.")  
_

_God, Stiles **hates** that asshole. _

Something sparks,  _burns,_ and Stiles yelps, (slightly! Only slightly) and drops the mountain ash on the table, because it  _hurt_ for a second there - it  _burned._

Stiles shakes his hand and looks at it, winces because, yes, it actually  _did_ burn and  _ow,_ he's gonna have to treat that. Lucky it's only first degree, he can just say he wasn't careful when cooking his breakfast. His dad took an overnight at the station anyway last night; it's why Stiles had decided then was the time to message the druid lady, and now is the time to practice. 

Well. _W_ _as_  the time to practice. Stiles winces, and moves to go to the bathroom to bandage up his palm (because he  _thinks_ it's first degree, but that's one of the things he resolved never to  _ever_ research, which is not at all due to him wanting nothing to do with what kind of burns Stiles and Allison and Jackson (and Scott, in the sense that he aided and abetted) gave to Peter.)

(It's really only because he was an Alpha Werewolf at the time that he survived that first onslaught. Stiles knows the four were lucky to have not made their first joint murder that day. It's a dark thought, so Stiles tries to avoid ever really contemplating it, unless he's in a dark mood, but then he's already contemplating dark shit when that happens - thoughts of potential almost-murders aren't really any different from thinking you killed your own mother, after all. _Are_ killing your dad. Even if you can't quite remember why you think those things.)

For once, despite expecting to not be allowed to bandage his hand by the universe, Stiles did finish his movement up, off of his chair, walked out of the room and into the bathroom to the right. 

Stiles closed and locked the door, turned around and leaned his head back on it. Closed his eyes, breathed slowly - tension leaving his shoulders.

It had been a long few months, is all - and this was pretty much the first time Stiles wasn't really looking over his shoulders. Not that he wasn't; the Alpha Pack business sounds like the horrifically pain-filled kind of trouble, but Stiles had a feeling Bad Things won't start going down properly for a little while now - that this is just a warning to prepare and they have _time,_ which it seemed for so long that they'd always lack - so forgive Stiles his moment of reprieve from that Hypervigilance thing. It's tiring, alright, and for a second he just needs a breather. 

A second passes, and Stiles' hand throbs painfully. Flicking his eyes upwards, stiles sighs and bends down, grabs the first aid kit from below the sink, and with little knowledge of what he's doing (since up until now, he's actually managed to avoid getting burns - Stiles was a pretty lucky kid) settles into trying to figure out exactly what he's supposed to do for this thing. 

* * *

It's the day following her finding out about the Alpha pack. At least this time, she thinks, Allison found out when everyone else did.

The van they're in is stuffy - _of course_ it is - and Allison isn't exactly sure bringing Isaac on this particular adventure was the best idea, given his PTSD with small spaces. 

The teen in question is sprawled in the back; the seats back there were removable, so right now there's only three of them in the car - one for her, one for Isaac, and one for Boyd - _if_ they find him.

(For the  _keeping_ part, if they find him, Allison has some Kanima venom with her in case it comes down to an argument - she'd gathered it the same night she had used some to paralyse Reyes, by the way - but honestly Allison was hoping Boyd would just cooperate and force wouldn't be at all necessary.)

(She'd used too much, gotten too close to the edge, as it was. Allison'd rather not continue being such a Bitch to people she's already hurt. In truth, she's pretty sure it was a terrible idea to send  _her,_ of all people, to retrieve the wayward beta - but here she is, so maybe Allison's just as blind to that obvious, glaring issue as the rest are, who knows.)

"You awake back there?" She asks, flicks her eyes from the dirt road unravelling out in front of them as they go for a second to glance again at the teen taking up pretty much all of their free space.

"Yep." Isaac pops, staring at the ceiling. "Still nothing. Windows are open, yeah?"

Allison rolls her eyes. This is at least the twentieth time, today only, that he's asked that of her. 

"Yep." She responds in kind - popping the 'p' as harshly as possible. Isaac groans in annoyance and sits up, folds his long legs and props his head up on his arms, leaning on his knees. 

Allison glances up into the rear-view mirror and smirks, a little - because he looks adorable. All fluffy non-gelled hair and eyes looking upwards. It's cute, she thinks - still slightly smirking. 

"I don't think he went this way." Isaac says drily. He's discarded his scarf -  _blasphemy,_ of course, but it is hot in the van, as Allison had pointed out, and as dignified as was possible Isaac placed it, carefully, on the third seat - yet not his sweater, and there's a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, in part due to his hair. But mostly the heat. 

"Seriously Isaac drop the sweater before the van starts to smell like sweaty teen-aged werewolf." Allison says. "This  _is_ a hunter's vehicle, after all."

Isaac looks put upon for a moment - a tad over dramatic, Allison thinks, but then aren't they all? - before discarding the sweater as well, probably instantly less boiling than before all due to listening to valid reason, Allison figures. 

She glances at him again, sees him looking bored and sitting with his back to the side of the van and his legs splayed in front of him as much as he's able, in a T-Shirt and jeans, and nods to herself.

 _There,_ she thinks,  _better._ Now he won't die from being too hot, Allison feels a little satisfied and puts on the air-con. 

"That's been there this whole time?" Isaac demands. 

"You're wearing like, twenty layers in summer. And werewolves run just a little hotter than humans, I know this for a fact, and though that doesn't sound like much small things can make a huge difference so it can't be good for you at all to do that. It wouldn't even be good regardless of your werewolf status - I'd probably get a heat stroke if I tried that in this weather." She explains, clinical and ignoring how exactly she knows the slight temperature difference thing (because she's had lots of sex with one) in the same manner Isaac does. "Also it restricts your movement." Allison adds, frowning. "What if we were jumped, huh? Fighting's difficult enough in jeans, a sweater and a scarf are just asking for trouble, never mind your jacket."

Isaac quietly grumbles to himself but he acquiesces, and Allison counts this as a win.

(She rather thinks, privately, that they've come quite far from her stabbing  him a few times with ring daggers. Quite far indeed.)

* * *

 

 A few days pass, and Erica can tell that Derek's getting at least a little worried about the lack of news on the Boyd front from Isaac and Argent. (Although the worry is because of Isaac and Boyd, and not because of Argent (since he couldn't care less about her or her family), he's also a little wary too - likely because Argent's dad has wolfsbane bullets in his arsenal, and told Isaac to tell Derek that he'd literally shoot the Hale if anything happened to his daughter at all, in any way, shape, or form.) 

Erica and Derek are currently surveying an empty warehouse on the outskirts of town - but Derek isn't looking to pleased with it, and Erica can't say she's a _huge_ fan of the boarded up windows and broken fire escapes. It's a pretty ugly-ass building, in fact - and with a shared glance the two decide to look elsewhere for a place to squat. 

"Have you heard anything?" Derek asks; the man still hasn't gotten a phone, though that's likely due to his lack of a job and his unwillingness towards using any of his family's money for anything, ever. 

Erica thinks they would have wanted him to at least buy a safe place to live,  _at least._ But he bought a car with it years ago, she thinks because where else would he have gotten the money for that thing, good lord - so she thinks he's hesitant to touch it for anything else. 

Erica mostly just wishes he'd invest it, you know - get interest and shit, she's pretty sure you're supposed to do that. And it's not like the money wouldn't hurt. 

Look - the thing is; she knows, sort of, why he won't use the money, but it's impractical and he has a pack (even if it is in shambles) to look after. The point is that Erica doesn't think he can afford to avoid using the money - actually, since he doesn't have a job he can't really afford to do much of anything in the first place. Let alone find a safe, large building in which to live. 

They spent some more time trodding around the deserted warehouse district - Beacon Hills hasn't needed them for a good long while now; these buildings have been around for a  _long_ time and nobody's tried to pull them down yet; something about preserving history or some shit - but came up with squat for their squatting, so Erica sighed; bored, and pursed her lips with annoyance. 

Derek looked over to her, sighed in a different way, and nodded. "Go home, Erica." He said. "You should've been in school today. Good luck with that." 

Derek says this as if he isn't going to give her any ideas for a lie to tell her mother - and, in truth, he never does and he never would, so Erica huffs and walks off, her heeled boots clacking on the ground, sharp and obvious - loud, obnoxious. 

(Erica spent so long being invisible, being laughed at and mocked and shunted aside that the things she wears now, how she acts, what she says - It's all to avoid that state of being. Because Erica never wants that, never wanted it; she'll do what she needs to in order to stay as far away from anonymity and humiliation as is possible.)

(People are bitches, and it's not only the nice guys that finish last, she's learned. It's alright; Erica speaks bitch as well as the rest of this fucking town does. Maybe even better.)

(She doesn't mind if that makes her more than a bit of a Bitch. Being on top, for once, even in that, is an odd feeling - it's not pride, why would it be, but it's  _something._ More than she'd ever had before, at least. Something  _more.)_

The clacking, snapping noise follows her and dulls, white-empty in her ears after a few minutes of walking, striding, prowling her way home. Lucky for Erica, school got out long enough ago for her mom to think she went, and she knows for a fact that woman wouldn't believe Erica hadn't gone even if she was shown the full day's CCTV footage. Sometimes, Erica finds this naivete rather useful - it angered her, before. She could act out, yeah, but why would she do that if nothing would ever come of it? Erica just wanted some reaction, alright - she wouldn't've pulled that stunt in the gym all those weeks ago otherwise. It was stupid, yeah - reflecting on it now she knows that more than anything - but it got  _attention._ As a result of that, she's here, now - not lying in some hospital because of yet another fit, not wasting away, bound by an illness beyond her control. 

Erica would have given  _anything_ for that, and in the end - 

She knows that wasn't smart of her. Because, truthfully - she's not sure she's gonna live any longer as a werewolf, not with all this shit hanging over their heads, than she would've as a human with epilepsy. 

Hell, if she'd learned anything since becoming a werewolf, it's that her decisions have lasting consequences. 

(God, Erica hopes Boyd's alright. If he's not, Erica's certain she'll never forgive herself.)

One, two, three uninterrupted raps on her front door later, and it opens wide, welcoming - her mom standing behind it, hand on the knob, a smile on her face. As genuine as always. 

(Erica should be so, fucking, super  _goddamn_ _happy_ that her mom is as great as she is. She should - with friends like hers, Erica knows more than most. But is it so much to ask for her mother to  _react?_ Once?

At least show fucking concern at her daughter's abysmal life decisions?)

(Is it too much to ask?)

"Mom." Erica greets with a similar smile; she's always looked more like her mother than her father, and that's not exactly a bad thing, not necessarily. "Sorry I took so long." She added, shrugging, moved past her mom into the house proper - dropped her jacket on the coat stand, shoved her phone into her jeans' pocket after retrieving it from said leather jacket's one. 

Erica sucked in a breath and lifted her shoulders before relaxing them. Breathing out, she turned to her mother - still smiling, Erica noted; not exactly unexpected. 

Erica's nose itched. Something smelt... odd. It was overpowered by the scent of lavender; her mother's favourite perfume was what amounted to bottled flowers, but Erica had never smelt anything other than lavender when she wore it. 

Erica wondered at the special occasion. "How are you?" Her mom asks, sincere, and Erica's smile doesn't falter - although her eyes do, and that odd smell intensified. "I'm good." She says. "Boyd's still missing, and that sucks - but it was his choice, so." 

Erica shrugs. She's still unsure on whether it would have been a good idea to leave with him or not. Whether leaving was a good idea in the first place, that was also still up for debate. 

Mrs. Reyes places a sympathetic hand on her daughter's left arm, squeezes and removes it. "He'll turn up." She offers as comfort. "I know he will."

Erica hopes so. If only so that she can follow him, say she's sorry for not doing so in the first place. Perhaps convince him leaving was a bad idea, maybe bring him back home. Possibly, probably, do both and do neither; annoy him yet again with her indecision. 

Her mother sighs, softly, eyes soft and warm and welcoming,  _'I'm here if you want to talk, but you don't have to explain yourself to me,'_ they say - but Erica just - she just wants, for once, to have to explain herself. To have the same sort of parents most people do, to see her dad around the house more often. To be in 'that teenage rebellion phase' for a fucking reason, not just because she has nothing better to do with her newfound power. 

In the end, Erica just wants to be like everyone else. A normal kid. Most people take that for granted, she thinks - that normalcy. Yeah, you're nothing special - but at least that means you're life's nothing  _bad._

Generally, the average person has a decent life, at least where Erica lives. That's what she wants and it's what she's always wanted - and, hilariously, it's what she will never, ever,  _ever_ get.

Ever. 

"I'm going up to my room." She tells her mom, abrupt and probably rude, likely unexpected, but the woman just nods, smiles again, leaves for the living room to continue watching the flick Erica had heard her pause when she got up to open the door. 

Erica breathes calm breaths; in, and out again.

Turning around, her hair flicking behind herself, Erica goes to the upstairs landing, takes a left and enters her room. Its the same as always - in fact, it hasn't been touched since she'd left it all those weeks prior; the floor's still a mess, clothes hurriedly discarded when she was searching for something appropriate but found nothing, since back then she'd never dressed very well. Her bed is still half done - Erica had gone to school reasoning that she'd tidy it when she got home, but the werewolf never had the chance after that - staying with Derek as the betas all did at that time. 

Gah, she despises that train.

Shaking herself, Erica methodically sets to work, folding and putting away her clothes, hanging what's left up in her wardrobe. When done, the room is slightly tidier - but there's nothing left to do, here. Her dad had always been so totally paranoid about her epilepsy that she had a serious lack in anything that could cause a fit - so no personal computer, and she has literally no data plan on her phone, in that he got top-up and never paid for it again once she'd used it all the first time. 

They have a computer in the house, of course, but it's in the living room. For safety reasons, he'd said - in case she sees something and has a fit, he wanted it to be somewhere people would generally be. 

Erica kind of gets that, but she's not some stupid kid. If there's an epilepsy warning, she wouldn't've clicked on it - it's that simple. Yeah, there's always the risk... but that's just how it was, how it had been for as long as she could remember. 

Glancing around the room, Erica knows its time for some redecorating. Because - yes, she can still get fits, but they won't ever be too dangerous, just like, break a finger and her body will fix itself quick. Sure, it can still happen. But it can happen less than ever before, and it would never properly hurt her ever again.

So yes. It is time for a change in scenery. 

_Because it's not like that anymore. My room can be however I want it to, and my dad can't say jack shit about that._

Erica smiles. Sometimes, she wonders if the price of being a werewolf is too much for the benefits.

This is not one of those times. 

* * *

 

* * *

 Stiles' window is open (as is the norm these days; never know when a supernaturally or gymnastically inclined buddy will want into your house) and he hears faint howling on the wind. Most would pass it off as nothing; a figment of the imagination - as there haven't been wolves in California for a good long while now - _it's probably just the full moon talking._

Stiles likes that. Because, in a way, it is the full moon talking. 

Scott is out with Derek, attempting and probably failing to teach Erica some semblance of control. Lydia isn't talking to Allison, let alone anyone else, and who would ever want to talk to Jackson, so Stiles is out of people he knows.

Well, there's always Heather, but they haven't talked since his mom died. So.

No.

Huffing, Stiles distracts himself. He grabs a pinch of mountain ash, holds it in his fist, grip tight but not tense. Stiles has been at this for two days, now, and it's getting better. The first time he got the line to work he'd literally whooped for joy - luckily his dad had been out at the station, or he'd've had to explain to the Sheriff exactly why he was so pleased at a shaky, uneven, possibly a circle if you squint at it shape he'd made on the desk by trying and failing to trickle ash between his fingers.

Yes, it hadn't been the best second attempt. But it  _had_ worked, sort of, and that was actually pretty cool. 

At least he hadn't burned himself again. His hand had been better by the morning, but still. Ouch.

Stiles breathed, visualised, believed,  _imagined,_ and closed his eyes, moved his hand in a circle not guided by his mind, slowly opened his hand, and then, after a few seconds - opened his eyes.

Stiles whooped again, because this was the first time the circle was actually a circle. The line was about the thickness of a pencil, sure, but it was consistent and round and that was better than expected. He'd chosen a circle so he could calculate the amount of ash he'd need for the circumference, and thus give himself less and less each successful try.

This technique had worked so far, and so Stiles repeated this - took less ash, decided ' _fuck it'_ and stood up. He tightened his grip on the ash, stood at one wall of his room, and faced the one opposite. Stiles breathed, and closed his eyes. 

Repeating in his head the steps;  _visualise what you want, imagine yourself doing it, believe that is what is happening, paint a vivid picture so real you believe it yourself-_ Stiles slowly walked forwards, eyes closed.

After a few paces, Stiles stopped. He opened his eyes, and was staring at the wall, which was right in front of him when it hadn't been seemingly seconds prior. Stiles breathed through the shock, and turned around. 

The ash was in a fairly straight line, that was of the same thickness the whole way. It reached from wall to wall, and Stiles knew nothing was getting through it. Around it, yes - but not through.

Stiles grinned to himself; pleased. The next step was to try and open the barriers the same way he'd done it at the jungle; weirdly. 

Stiles dropped the pleased expression and grimaced, before dropping to a crouch and frowning at the ash line. 

Stiles breathed, concentrated.  _He wanted this open._

Stiles opened his eyes and jerked his hands over the line, face contorted with the effort. 

The ash line separated, as it had done; like a door opening, a curtain being blown separate, and Stiles smiled, genuinely, pleased. 

He looked over to the desk and sighed, because he was going to have to clean this shit up now - but Sties didn't really mind that given the accomplished feeling these last three days had given him. 

Relishing in the feeling of having actually done something kind of cool, Stiles stepped over the broken line and went downstairs to get a dustpan and brush - he thinks they keep a pair near the washing machine...

* * *

 And so the first week and a half go. But as the nearly two week deadline for Allison and Isaac's return draws nearer, and not a sound is heard from them, text message or otherwise...

Everyone starts to think things might be going into motion far sooner than they'd like. 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to match the TW calendar to the actual one is a bitch and a half, so I'm not gonna try. It'll just be a mix and I'll put things where I think they should go, so we'll roll and see how that ends up (and if I fuck it up @ some point which is kinda inevitable when semi-winging things like timelines.)  
> (also I've just realised that 'are' is another one of those words that just plain don't look right to me, damnit.)


	3. The Twenty-Seventh Day. (Basically, a week or so later.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things are happening. Meanwhile, Stiles figures some stuff out about the mountain ash with Scotty's help, Chris Argent gets angry with the Hale pack, and, to repeat, Strange things are happening...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, lol. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_The room is dark._

Allison blinks hazily to awareness, mind groggy and movements slow. 

_She feels... strange._

Allison isn't sure where she is. The room, so far as she can see (everything is blurry, and she's  _so tired-)_ is dark. Large. Empty. 

Allison barely remembers what happened. 

_What happened?_

Allison doesn't know. She tries to get up, to lean on the wall but something stops her, and she hisses in pan, drops down again. 

_Her leg is injured. It should be worse. Why should it be worse?_

Allison's tired. So tired.

_She gives into oblivion._

* * *

 

"How do you think their search is going?" Stiles asks Scott. Scott shrugs. "I hope it's going well," He says, optimistically. "They're smart, and capable. It shouldn't be long before they're back."

Stiles hums - Scott  _thinks_ it's agreement, but there's something off about his demeanour. Stiles is worried, Scott knows. But Isaac,  _Allison -_ The two can look after themselves. Scott's sure of this. He thinks. 

"Why'd you call me over, anyway?" Scott asks, and Stiles' tapping intensifies. "To try something." Stiles says, oh-so helpfully. "Right," Scott leads, and Stiles nods. "I wanna see if this barrier works." Stiles says, gesturing at the mountain ash circle (well, what you could generously call a circle) on his table.

"But we know that it works?" Scott asks, confused. They've done this before - back at the jungle - and Stiles' barrier worked then, why wouldn't it work now?

"Humour me." Stiles says. "The last time was during an incredibly stressful situation, I'll have you know, and I wanna see if I can pull it off when I'm not suitably anxiety riddled."

Scott nods, understanding. He can see the empty Xanax bottle on the table, and sympathises. Stiles grins, eyes sharp, and rolls it into the trashcan. "Well?" Stiles asks, impatient. Scott rolls his eyes but tries to push his hand through regardless, and fails. Stiles nods, and then says "I wanna try something," grabbing hold of Scott's arm and pushing it through the barrier without warning. 

It works. Scott tries to pull his hand free, and can't. The sensation of that is weird; like there's something blocking his arm's exit. 

"Alright then." Scott says. Stiles nods, looks over at his computer and browses a few tabs for a moment, eyes reading the text faster than Scott can follow. Before Scott can start feeling a little silly, Stiles breaks the mountain ash barrier without touching it. "Cool." Scott says, and Stiles grins, eyes sharp in a different way.

Scott knows Stiles hates feeling useless. This is something to help that, Scott hopes. 

"Well, there's not really anything else I need to do." Stiles says. "You busy?" 

Scott shakes his head. It's been too long since they've just hung out together, like before all this started, and he'd like the normality of that. For a short time, at least. 

Stiles grins. Scott knows where this is going. 

"Then I have the perfect series for us to watch." Stiles says. "And you have no convenient reasons not to, this time." Stiles throws an arm around Scott's shoulders and practically drags him from the room. Scott sighs, and follows along, because this - this is  _normal._ It's how things were before werewolves and how he wants them to be.

So he's happy about that, even if it means he's going to watch Star Wars, which he's never really told Stiles that it doesn't even remotely interest him.

_Oh well._

* * *

 

The time out is dark. There's a figure on a motorbike, and it stops outside of a building. It is too dark to make either out properly, but it is easier to see the figure.

The figure removes its helmet, revealing it to be a woman. She takes a phone out of her pocket, and turns it on. Presumably, the object is on silent, because she doesn't seem to careful about hiding it, or muffling the speaker. 

She doesn't seem too concerned by the last message. In fact, one might thing it the norm due to her reaction; the woman simply turns the phone off and drops it in front of her motorbike, before rolling over it, crushing the phone so completely you probably wouldn't realise it was a phone. 

She looks up to the building. 

_Time for some reconnaissance._

After all, it wouldn't do to try and rescue people that were already dead. That's just an unnecessary risk.  

* * *

 

Chris slams a hand into the door frame, glares at Derek. "You  _told me_ that they’d reported back!”

The man is obviously angry, and an angry man with a gun who is not afraid to shoot you with wolfsbane bullets is _not_ something Erica thought she’d ever have to deal with.

Peter slinks out of the shadows, places a hand on Derek’s shoulder, guiding him back, slightly, and turns to Argent.

“My nephew here isn’t the most intelligent. I, for one, would have told you the instant we didn’t get any news… if I myself had been around or even told that that was the case in the first place.”

Argent scowls and his hand twitches. Erica keeps a wary eye on his gun.

Oh. Wonderful. _Guns._

As in, plural. How friendly.

“And you?” Argent turns to her, and Erica raises an eyebrow at him. “Me?” She asks. “I’m just a beta, Argent. Even if I wanted to tell you it wouldn’t have been a good idea.” She says, lips twisted.

God, it’s bad when she’d rather not have an Alpha than her current one, isn’t it?

_That’s part of the reason why she’d nearly almost wanted to leave with Boyd in the first place._

Derek scowls as Argent turns his attention back to the Alpha. Peter has slunk back into the shadows again, and Erica’s glad.

He’s… a bit creepy. In all honesty.

“So what you’re saying now,” Argent says, “Is that my daughter is _missing?”_

“…We didn’t get any news.” Derek seems to have weighed his words; there was a seemingly lengthy pause before he spoke. “There could be no signal.” He adds, and Argent glares at him some more.

“Right.” He says, coolly. “Yet there’s always a satellite phone in the van with ten hunter’s numbers programmed in just in case, so no, my daughter wouldn’t have just used that to call me, that wouldn’t make any sense.”

Erica realises this is sarcasm at the same time Derek does. By then, Peter’s already smirking from the shadows.

Agh. This place needs more lighting. It’s disturbing.

Argent glares at all three of them in turn, and Erica feels a chill run down her spine.

“If she’s not found,” He starts, slow and foreboding, “Our truce is _over.”_

With that, he leaves.

After shooting Derek in the leg.

“Oi!” Erica calls out, angered, but when she goes to the doorframe Erica  spots a single bullet on the ground.

Dropping quickly – since she’d followed to go retrieve one – Erica grabbed the bullet and handed it to Derek, who inspected it, smashed it, and looked to the two. “Lighter. Fire.” He says, and Erica looks around, not having anything on her person what could start a fire.

“Relax, nephew.” Peter says, crouches and holds out an old-looking lighter. “Here.”

Derek snatches the thing from Peter’s hand and deals with the bullet wound in his leg.

“You’re welcome.” Peter says drily, before standing up, brushing himself off, and leaving the room.

Erica looks to Derek, who scowls back. She thinks maybe that’s just his default, but she frowns at him regardless and flounces off home.

She’s had enough fun for one afternoon.

* * *

 

Lydia's summer had been, for the most part, wholly uneventful on the...  _strange_ side of things. 

This was a good thing. Lydia was utterly and completely  _done_ with the abnormal. Her summer would be full of the things she'd expected it to be at the beginning of the school year, and Lydia would have fun. 

However...

Alright. So Lydia was curious, sue her. She'd seen some...  _things,_ when looking through that bestiary, and Lydia wanted to look further. Translate it, so to speak, as a little project over summer so that she doesn't get bored from the lack of challenge keeping up appearances gives her. 

She'll be back to popular by the end of summer; that's granted. But she won't be back to ignorant, and Lydia understands this. She can't just leave well be when she  _knows._ That's not the kind of person Lydia is. 

One thing she is is miffed, however. Lydia hasn't heard from Allison in weeks. She said some vague thing about a road trip and then France, so Lydia supposes she's having fun, but it would be nice to have been called, given a postcard.

Humph. 

Regardless - Lydia's curious. And that bestiary is Allison's family's secret book, so her knowing the fully translated version should be a kind of payback for being kept out of the loop and being ignored over summer. At least, this is how Lydia reasons it. 

Lydia sits at her computer, turns it on and places in a usb drive. She doesn't keep the files on her computer's hard drive - that would be stupid - and she keeps them close.

For safekeeping. 

Lydia opens the folder titled  _to translate,_ goes to the file she's marked as  _WIP,_ and opens it, along with it's accompanying word document.

Lydia takes a sip of her water, and gets to work.

* * *

Boyd sits across from the other girl - she hasn't told him her name just yet - and sits there in silence. 

He's been here a while. Erica was right; they never should have run. 

Even Beacon Hills is less deadly than this place. 

"How many?" The girl asks, and Boyd doesn't know. He shakes his head, and she inclines hers.

Her voice is rough. Disused. 

Boyd knows his won't be much better. And it'll only be better because he hasn't been here quite as long as her. 

"A few lunar cycles for me." The girl says. "Couldn't tell you the date. Didn't know it before I got here; how would I now?"

Boyd nods. Says "Beginning of summer." And doesn't extrapolate. 

They're going to have to kill each other. Boyd can't do that if they bond. 

The girl nods, and falls silent. 

(Boyd is so very  _hungry.)_

Eventually, sleep takes them both.

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank Before_i_sleep for this update, tbh, kicked me into gear that comment did. Thanks man!


	4. And So The Bell Tolls (Figuratively, of course.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't explain the rescue of Allison and Isaac very well, so here you go. 
> 
> Some other stuff, too.

_A few days prior..._

* * *

 

When Allison wakes up next, she feels - a lot better than before. A lot more aware, and awake, and able to actually  _think._

Allison first catalogues herself. There's a scar on her leg that hurts when she pulls at the skin around it - new, Allison knows, because she'd never had that before but also  _new,_ in the literal sense; the skin still hurts but the scar looks old - 

Hmm. Allison frowns at her leg. The next thing she notes is that she isn't tied up, but she appears to be in a very, very dark room.

She can't see a thing.

"Hello?" She whispers, quietly, and there's a noise from the other side of the room.

"Allison?" Isaac asks, quiet. 

"Yeah," Allison nods. "Can you? - "

"There's something here," Isaac says, quiet. Pained. "Smells like wolfsbane... I can't shift."

"Oh." Allison says, quietly. "I'll -"

Allison checks her pockets in the hope that her miniature torch is still there. It isn't, of course (along with her weapons and her phone; she's devoid of anything useful) so then Allison decides to try and feel her way over to the other teen.

"Okay," Allison says. "But you can still smell, right?"

"... yeah," Isaac manages. "So keep an eye on my scent," Allison instructs, "Tell me when I'm getting closer."

"Okay," Isaac mutters, and Allison had to strain her ears to hear him. "Okay," Allison repeats to herself.

* * *

 Stiles sat down at his computer and opened up Facebook. 

Allison and Isaac were still missing, and he didn't have a way to find them.

Yet. He had an idea on who might - and it was a long shot, obviously, a stupidly long shot because he has no idea as to how druid magic actually works and the extent to which it can go, but there has to be some form of location spell, there has to.

Stiles closed the page and quickly created an email from which he could send the images (he went outside and took them in the corner of the garden - he didn't want to make his location obvious - he'd also used his phone number to make the account, which is why he'd had to make a new email... not his best idea, but oh well.)

Stiles didn't have any plans on talking to Deaton, in truth. The man wouldn't tell him anything helpful since he never really did. Even to Scott, who the guy actually seems to like - so especially not to Stiles. 

* * *

 

Scott was pacing. "Hey," Lydia said, "Stop that." 

Scott frowned at her. Scott wasn't sure why she'd invited him over, in all honesty. He guessed it was because Allison was off on the rescue mission and Jackson was off in England and Lydia, well.

Lydia didn't really have... any friends. At all. 

It's weird. But Scott kind of thinks that makes sense, in a way. She's  _popular,_ sure, but that isn't because she's  _nice._

And Lydia doesn't know why Scott's pacing. So he can - give her that, he figures. He still feels bad about not telling her where Allison is right now, but he didn't want to worry her overmuch. 

Lydia didn't have many people who cared about her - Scott kind of wanted to remedy that, so long as she doesn't try and proposition him again... meanly. That had been - weird. 

But that was ages ago. This is now. 

Scott stops pacing and stands there, kind of awkwardly. 

"Just sit on the bed," Lydia says, and he can hear her eyes roll (figuratively, of course) at his uncertainty. "Don't worry, I haven't had anyone around for a few days."

Oh. Scott gingerly sits down on the bed. _That's_ what he could smell. 

"Right," Scott says, then stops. 

"I invited you so I wouldn't have to sit here in silence," Lydia said. "Ask me something."

"What are you working on?" Scott offered, stood up to go stand near enough so that he could see the computer in front of her. 

"The bestiary," Lydia told him. "There's no point not translating the whole thing, after all."

"I guess," Scott said. 

"You don't guess." Lydia frowned at him. "It makes no logical sense to be unprepared."

Scott nodded. That was true. 

"You have a point." Scott agreed, and Lydia smile-smirked at him. 

"I  _always_ have a point," She asserted, then turned back to the screen. "I'm onto werejaguars. Something about beserkers is also mentioned - a werejaguar can control them, apparently? Create them? It's not clear - so I should probably do those first." Lydia said. 

"These things aren't categorised very well," She added disparagingly. "Not put into categories and listed alphabetically. It's all a mess. You've got werewolves, then kitsunes, then darachs, then wendigos, then werejaguars, then were-coyotes, then kanimas, then blah blah, you get what I'm saying." 

Scott had no idea what half of those were, but he nodded anyway. 

"It's just _awful_ ," Lydia muttered. 

* * *

 

"Right," Allison muttered. "So I think my leg was broken at one point?"

"They weren't careful when they put us in here," Isaac revealed. "Threw you in - your leg hit the wall. The druid lady had to fix it up."

"... okay," Allison nodded. "So someone with super strength threw me into a wall." She said, slowly.

"You're lucky," Isaac said, agreeing with her sentiment. 

"So I couldn't feel any wolfsbane anywhere," Allison said. 

"It's in the air," Isaac muttered. "To keep werewolves docile."

"... oh." Allison paused. "That's..."

"Unfortunate," Isaac finished. "Yeah."

"... _However,"_ Allison said forcefully, then lowered her voice - "I did find a mountain ash barrier, which I promptly attempted to break."

"Could you?" Isaac asked. "... kind of," Allison muttered. "I could step over it if it wasn't pushed against the wall, but it like - repelled my hands when I tried to break the line."

"Figures," Isaac muttered. "Just - great."

"Hey," Allison frowned into the darkness. "We'll - we'll get out of here."

"In one piece?" Isaac asked. Allison took that as rhetorical and didn't reply.

* * *

Braeden frowned at the bank. The security there was lacklustre at best - she supposed the weres would rely on their sense of smell and hearing to find any intruders, but it was still unwise of them. 

Braeden waited for the druid to leave, the same time as she did the previous day, and lo and behold, it happened. Once the woman was around the corner, Braeden waited a few minutes before sneaking into the bank. 

She had two people to rescue. One, if she can only save the one, but two would get her more money and draw out her true targets. 

The Alpha Pack. 

* * *

Allison heard a grinding noise and then had to shield her eyes from the light that suddenly flooded the room. 

"You two," A woman's voice hissed. "Up."

Allison scrambled to her feet and helped Isaac to stand - the fresh, non-wolfsbane air seemed to be helping already. 

"Where are we going?" Allison asked, suspicious, but Isaac spoke before the other woman could - 

"You aren't one of them," Isaac frowned. 

"That's right," Braeden said. "And I hate to be a cliche... but you need to come with me if you want to live."

They went with her.

\---

"Keep quiet," Braeden muttered to them, and then they set off down the hallway. They didn't see anyone for a little while - but then they heard voices and loud, fast footsteps. 

"Cover's blown, kids." Braeden said. "Run."

They did. 

Allison dragged a still dazed Isaac after her, and Isaac helped her limp-run after their supposed saviour. 

"Stop!" Someone roared. They, of course, did not stop - the three mounted Braeden's motorcyle.

"Hold on," She said, and then they were off - but two of the kidnappers were still following, and they were certainly supernatural, because they were keeping up with the speed of Braeden's motorbike - Braeden was having none of that, though, and she sped up as much as she could - went around tighter and tighter bends, weaved in and out of different paths - and they were in the warehouse district, now, Allison could see - and they were crashing into a room - and then - 

Braeden turned so sharply that the bike toppled over. Allison was thrown to the ground, and knew no more.

* * *

"Up, up," Allison heard, as she was dragged into standing before she'd properly regained consciousness. "They'll be back soon, we need to go -" And Braeden was off, grabbing a still unconscious Isaac and putting him on the back of her motorcylce, which still seemed to be in just-about working condition. 

"Hop on," Braeden said. "And make sure he doesn't fall off."

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was how that happened, if you were wondering.


End file.
